Turn Me Back!

Episode 6 - The Clothes Make The Deed

The next morning I drag myself out from under the warm blankets with a groan. I have to go and meet that stupid girl about the stupid royal protection job. Why does the meeting have to be at dawn? Why are things always at dawn? What would be so bad about meeting a few hours after sunrise? After breakfast. Or why not after lunch for that matter? It would be a hell of a lot easier to face the thought of a day of monotonous travel or gruesome killing with a couple of meals under your belt. Maybe I'm in the wrong industry. I ought to choose another profession where things don't start until later in the day. Oh, that's right; there aren't any! Life's a bitch.

I forgot to add time to compensate for my tiny legs, so I have to run the last stretch to the south gate. The dark-haired girl from the bar is there and she greets me with a horribly cheery wave. "I knew you were interested," she says when I get close enough.

"I'm too old to get up this early," I pant in response, stomping over to join the group of recruits who've gathered to listen to her. Most of them cast surprised looks my way. They're all male. A mix of seasoned mercenaries wearing leather and carrying well-worn swords in notched scabbards. Even my demurest little-girl clothes look laughably dainty among this lot. But who cares. If they tried anything with me, they'd soon find out what's what. Once this stupid meeting is over, I'm going to buy myself a new knife as a reward for getting my next job so fast.

The men are all idiotically tall, so I stand at the front while we receive our instructions from the dark-haired girl. She introduces herself as Kayla. Turns out she's in charge of the entire operation. I'm a fine one to talk, but I have to say she doesn't look old enough to be running such an important assignment. The couple we'll be escorting is no less than Princess Isla of Hellavan and her husband-to-be, Prince Theodore of the neighbouring Kingdom of Vantral. According to some obscure kingdom lore, they can only be married in the mountain chapel at Zair. It's an astoundingly high-profile trip. I guess strength in numbers was a key factor in the decision to combine the travelling parties. The bride and groom aren't supposed to spend time with each other before they're married, but I'm sure there'll be some clever camping arrangement to keep them separate.

Not that I care that much about the details. The fee Kayla quotes is more than handsome enough to buy my time in the coming weeks. She also mentions there could be bonuses for special bravery shown during the assignment. I scoff to myself about that. No point being "specially brave" if you end up too dead to collect your reward. Balancing risk and profit — that's what the merc life is all about. The guys around me react excitedly when she mentions the bonus, so either they haven't been fighting for as long as their equipment suggests, or they're all numbskulls. I suspect both.

Kayla gives us the meeting point and time of departure tomorrow (another dawn meeting — who'd have thought?). There are a few things I need to buy for the trip, so I trek back to the marketplace where things are only just getting started. See? Dawn is too early for everyone.

A barber's stall catches my eye. I pause for a moment. Should I cut my hair short? Kayla didn't mention anything about needing me for my cuteness like my last two jobs. And let's face it, these bouncing curls are just begging to be grabbed by some would-be assailant. I stand lost in indecision for a moment until the barber notices me and jokingly clicks his scissors my way. "You'd better be careful, little girl," he calls. "If you come too close, you might lose all that beautiful hair!"

Okay, that decides me. There's no way I'm going over there to argue with him about whether or not I really want my hair cut off. If it turns out to be too much of a nuisance on the trip, I can just hack it off myself with a knife. Speaking of knives....

The visit to my favourite weapons stall cheers me up. By now the vendor knows me and has evidently made his peace with the dubious morality of selling sharp knives to a six-year-old. I guess the fact that I've turned up numerous times, still in possession of all my fingers, has convinced him of my trustworthiness. Since my bribe turned out to be useless and I won't need my room at the inn any longer, I'm unexpectedly rich, so I splurge a large proportion of my remaining cash on a gorgeous set of throwing knives.